


Sometimes

by HufflepuffleMarauder



Series: They went by "The Marauders" [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Character Study, Gen, No Dialogue, Real angst here guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HufflepuffleMarauder/pseuds/HufflepuffleMarauder
Summary: Sometimes, he felt like he was being suffocated.Buried.A swing.A knot.Eaten.Virus.A craving.Snake.Sometimes, he felt dead.He watched as his carefully crafted world crashed and burned around him





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my angsty character study! If it seems too realistic I based this on myself when I was in a bit of a dark place and it felt right for this character. 
> 
> This isn't directly related to my other Marauders story "Four Broken Boys" but go check it out if you have the time.

Sometimes, he felt like he was suffocating. Everything was so overwhelming that the earth would somehow run out of its everlasting supply of air. He would be left gasping and choking for something to fill his poor lungs. When he looked around on the brink of suffocation other people seemed fine. They could breathe easy, lungs clear and air fresh. They didn't have a problem in the world because the world provided air. Finally, after almost passing out from not being able to breathe, someone would be there to clear his air-way, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like he was being buried. Buried under his own stupidity. He could feel the weight of his mistakes over his helpless body and wished that he didn't make so many. But the weight kept on growing. He kept on making mistakes and saying things that he shouldn't have. He tried, oh he tried to stay on top. But the weight was too strong, and trampled him over. He was left hopelessly buried amongst his mistakes, left trying to dig himself out. Almost everytime, someone would be there to fix his mistakes and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like a swing. He would be moved by a slight gust of wind. He was so easy to move. So easy to direct because he couldn't help following orders. Even when a small child was playing, he would go where their legs decided he would. He found himself swinging between people. Swinging between moods. He couldn't stop. He was left with the fear that the slightest weight would snap his ropes and leave him on the gravel. But when the wind swayed him, someone was there to stabilise him, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes he felt like a knot. A tight knot that no-one would be able to untie. He could feel it. His large intestine and small one both made their way up to his lungs and intertwined painfully, causing a huge knot. Of course, it was all his fault. If he hadn't been so... like _himself_ then maybe he wouldn't be in knots. He would be left on the floor, tied in his own words and mistakes. Until someone with gentle hands untied him, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like being eaten from the inside. Something tiny but strong, gnawing his way through stomach acids and tissue lining. He would discard his daily routine in order to try and keep it under control. Of course, when he took a small break from everything, it would soon all fall apart. He would have to throw himself back in, physically and emotionally unstable. Soon the loss of blood would get to him and he would collapse under it all. If only he hadn't done that. But someone would be there to tame it, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like a virus. A deadly disease that was never contained. He would leap from person to person and ruin their lives. He'd infect them. Most of the time he didn't mean to, he just couldn't help it. How could you help it when you seemed to cause trouble and misery wherever you go? Like all deadly diseases he was hated and despised for all the pain he caused. He would often ask himself the point of living when everyone hated him and he death seemed to follow him and his every move. He would be found curled up and away from the world, away from where he could cause more harm. But someone would enter to get rid of the virus he was, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like a craving. Uncontrollable and the source of all guilty desires. He couldn't stop, he couldn't. Because once you start the urge doesn't go away. He felt a need for it. A want to cause pain to those who caused his own. As a craving everything around him crumpled and fell because he couldn't distract himself from that need. As everything fell he did too. It was a classic mistake of greed and power that he had succumbed to. After he was found crying, someone would be there to give him what he needed, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt like a snake. Others would pour out their trust into him. They'd pour out their biggest secrets to a face that was about to change for another. Snakes shed their skin and look completely different to before, making a different face. His face changed so much it became a habit. If he talked to seven people in one day then his face changed eight times. Because he'd never show his own, it was the nastiest one that would only be seen when he was sure he was alone. When his face changed so much and others began to realise, soon someone was there to give him a new one, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Sometimes, he felt dead. So tired he was dead on his feet. So ignorant he was dead to the world. So little intelligence he was brain dead. So many emotions he was dead inside. But to others he was very much alive. Alive physically and perfectly healthy. He would watch from his dead-like state and watch others be able to move athletically. They were able to hear everything going on in the world. The were able to get the best marks on every exam. They were able to have a range of different emotions. They were alive. At times like these he would lie down and act dead, but someone was always there to revive him, and he could get back up and carry on as normal.

Once he felt all this at once. He felt like he was being suffocated because he was being buried and the rope in his swing was now a tight knot while his face changed rapidly between good and evil, trying to ignore the craving for his own insides because there was a virus there. All at once this happened. But he wasn't dead, because soon he found himself saying the location to the person who had helped him up all those times. He watched as it happened, the guilt seeping through as quickly as the blood would escape his lost finger. He watched as his carefully crafted world crashed and burned around him because of his own words.

That was October 31st, seventeen years ago.

He looked into green eyes and decided that his time had come, because there would no longer be that person to help him up.

As Peter Pettigrew strangled himself, he mourned Lily and James Potter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I hope you all came to realise it was Voldemort helping him back up) 
> 
> I hope you liked that! I don't know if this will ever get anymore parts, probably not. But if you like Marauders, visit my profile and read my other story. *shamelessly advertises fanfiction* 
> 
> Please leave Kudos and reviews! As I always say, I am open to criticism!


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